- Pronouns
- Eldritch/Horror
- TNP Nation
- Yamantau/The Black Cathedral
- Discord
- Mercy#2357
“Yeah, I gave the orders [laughing], and you should have seen their stupid little fucking faces when the gas hit them. [Ironhorse continues to laugh] It was like watching the realization hit them, that they were going die, right then, right there, and finally get to meet God. Except…I'm the only fucking God on this mountaintop.”
-Transcript of Carolus Ironhorse interrogation, dated April 29, 2045.
Rafhazan, 2024
The smell of charred flesh hung in the air, accented by the acrid smell of mercaptan. Other than the roaring flames and crackling of wood and steel, the only sound in Kadirabad was that of Ephyran boots as they trampled over dirt, debris, glass, and bone alike. Qasim held the gas mask tight to his face, too large to stay on by itself, he desperately pushed it against his skin as the gas continued to spread. He tried his best not to look at the dead RDF Captain that had forced the mask over his head in the first place. The Ephyrans didn't care who they hit, friend or foe. He could hear footsteps drawing closer, so he simply buried his face into his mother's skirt and laid as still as he could. Little Qasim could hear the radio chatter drawing ever nearer, strange accents screaming. He knew just enough Mercanti to understand they were angry with the Ephyrans.
“Turn that fucking thing off.” One of the nearby men ordered, his voice obscured by the lens of his mask. Whoever he was talking to quickly complied.
“Great Khan, the men are not finding anything on the far side of town. Abass likely is not here.” another voice reported after some hasty footsteps approached.
“Then torch what's left of this place, move on to Al-Hazred, hit them with another barrage from Golf-niner-three, see if we can flush that little peckerhead out of his hidey hole.” the original voice answered.
“Khan Ironhorse, the Iterians are demanding we cease firing…” the second voice chimed back in.
A tense moment of silence passed before a single shot rang out, and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground reverberated off the buildings in the tight alley.
“I don't remember asking the opinion of my interiors.” Ironhorse hissed coldly. Qasim could just faintly hear the remaining soldier get on his radio and slowly read out a series of numbers that must have been coordinates.
“Ricky tick, Geldern.” Ironhorse drawled, his voice fading away. Qasim figured he must have been walking away.
Qasim laid face down for what felt like hours, waiting until there was only silence before crawling from the pile of his dead countrymen and looking around.
It was carnage.
The initial bombardment had almost leveled the neighborhood, and the streets had been filled with fleeing people when they dropped the gas. Qasim began to walk slowly down the street, stepping over the corpses. Their lips were an awful blue and their bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge from their heads. He chose instead to focus ahead, to get out of this terrible place. He could see the RDF soldiers that had been trying to direct people to safety lying dead at the end of the street, still clutching their weapons. As he neared, he could see they had been shot, but still showed the effects of the gas. Perhaps they had been shot out of mercy, or maybe the Ephyrans were just that cruel.
He fumbled at the snap on one of the soldiers holsters, and delicately drew his pistol. He had no real idea how to use it, but he took it regardless. He struggled looked it over, before gripping it tight and moving on. He had to keep moving.
Qasim had no idea where to go, but simply wandered from street to street, seeing that it was just more of the same scene. He wondered if anyone had survived. Eventually came to the far end of town, where it seemed the only building that wasn't too badly damaged was the Masjid. He cautiously approached the doors, peeking inside, only to find it dark, and quiet. He ducked inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He made it about halfway across the great empty floor before falling to his knees. He could feel the hot tears sting his eyes before the began to flow down his cheeks, cutting trails through the dust and blood caked to his face. He did the only thing he could, he touched his head to cold stone and prayed.
The gentle crunch of stone on stone made him snap back up and grab for the pistol. He scrambled way as he swung the weapon around and aimed it at a figure in the shadows. A very large figure.
An Ephyran woman moved slowly from the shadows, her hands raised to chest height with her rifle slung across her back.
“Its OK, kiddo. I won't hurt you.” she assured him.
“Ssss..stay back, djinn!” Qasim blurted, his Mercanti was choppy, but he knew enough to get by.
The woman still advanced toward him, her eyes mournful as she approached.
“Its ok, I promise, I won't touch you.” she continued softly.
Qasim pointed the pistol at her chest and tried to squeeze the trigger, but nothing happened. He tried again as she got closer, still nothing. He tried over and over again as she got closer, until she was only a couple feet away.
The woman reached out and pulled the gun from his hands. She looked it over and flicked the safety off, before chambering a round.
“I'll make you a deal. I won't hurt you, I'll even give you this back, but you need to tell me what you're doing here, and who you are, ok?” she asked, before holding the pistol back out to him, holding it by the barrel.
Qasim considered for a moment before choking back some tears, and nodding.
“My n-name, i-is Qasim, I am f-five. I c-came here to hide.” he stammered.
The woman nodded and handed him back the pistol.
“My name is Cora, I'm a medic. I want to help.” she told him, pointing to the green emblem on her plate carrier, that designated her as a combat medic with the Ekspedisjonsstryker.
“You're here to kill us!” Qasim cried out as he slowly crawled back away from her.
He could see her doing something strange with her face, as if trying not to cry.
She slowly reached up to her radio and said something in a language Qasim didn't understand. She was having a conversation with someone, and she seemed tense. There was a moment of silence between her and whoever she was talking to, before the man on the other end of the radio came back and his response seemed to soothe her.
She turned her attention back to Qasim, and took a deep breath.
“My friends are coming to help too. They want us to meet them outside when you're ready.” she told him.
“Why?” Qasim asked, the tears starting to choke him again.
“Because some of us are good. Some of us don't like this.” she replied sadly.
“You won't hurt me?” Qasim asked.
“No, kiddo, nobody will hurt you now, the bad guys are gone.” she assured him.
“Promise?” he asked sheepishly.
“I do. I promise you, nobody will hurt you now.” she said calmly. “Come here, let me look at you.” she continued, as she sat cross legged on the floor, swinging her bag from her shoulder.
Qasim cautiously approached until he stood right in front of her.
“Sit. I'm going to make sure you're ok first, alright? Then I'm gonna clean you up a little bit.” she told him. Qasim did as told, Sitting in front of her. She pushed the bag in front of him and opened it. She pulled out a bottle of water and an MRE, which she quickly handed over to him. “Only little bites and sips at a time, ok?”
Qasim nodded and took a sip of the water, trying to clear the dust from his mouth as Cora got into a kneeling position and began to look him over. The MRE was full of dried fruits and nuts, which he didn't much care for, but it was nice to have some food. Cora sat back and watched him eat the remaining contents of the bag, and slowly drink the rest of the water after she had finished her quick visual exam.
“Does it hurt to breathe or talk?” she asked him.
He shook his head as he examined her. She was younger than most of the Ephyrans he had seen, at least he thought she was, and she had more tattoos than most of them.
“What are your pictures for?” he asked, pointing to a raven on the back of her hand.
“They say who we are, where we're from.” she explained, taking a wipe from her bag, and holding it up to Qasim's face, gently clearing the dust and blood from his eyes, nose, and mouth, he could get cleaned up better later.
“Do you forget where you're from?” Qasim asked, still confused as to the purpose of the tattoos.
She feigned a smile. “Apparently some of us do.” she answered.
Qasim giggled, which brought a true smile to her. Her lilting laughter made Qasim giggle again before he went quiet.
“Is there anyone else?” he asked.
“In here?” she asked, before shaking her head.
“No. Outside. Is anyone else being helped?” he asked hopefully, pointing to the door.
She paused for a moment. “Maybe, I don't know for sure.” she lied. She knew that this poor kid was the current sole citizen of Kadirabad, but he didn't have to.
They both looked toward the door as the rumble of an engine approached, followed by footsteps.
Qasim, shuffled forward and grabbed at Cora's pant leg. Burying his face into her plate carrier. She held him against her with one arm while she reached for her radio with the free hand. Another brief exchange in a language he didn't understand, and the door of the Masjid slowly swung open, and two unarmed men entered. She pointed to her bag, which one of the men quickly grabbed, while the other seemed to keep watch at the door.
“We're going somewhere safe now, ok?” Cora assured Qasim, picking him up as she stood, his little arms working their way around her neck. He whimpered as they neared the door, so she rubbed his back and shushed him, trying to console him.
“Close your eyes for a second.” she told him as they exited the building. He did as she asked, feeling her slowly climb something. The next thing he knew, he could feel the vehicle moving as Cora held him. He kept his head on her shoulder as she held him, and looked out the window. He could see the plumes of smoke in the distance, he could hear the artillery firing, but it all faded as he surrendered to the exhaustion and fell asleep in her arms.
2046, Ephyra
Qasim shifted in his seat as the interviewer went back over the notes.
“So..what happened to Cora?” the interviewer finally asked.
Qasim shifted his gaze downwards and took a breath.
“My mom died about three years ago. She was caught in the crossfire between the Khanate troops and the Szubrov boy’s people.”
“You mean Khelani Ironhorse?” the interviewer tried to correct him.
“No, I mean Khelani Szubrov. He would never endure the shame of bearing his father's name.” Qasim asserted.
“Very well. Tell me, have you had any contact with Carolus Ironhorse since his capture by Prydanian forces?” the portly little man asked.
“No. Why would I do that?” Qasim asked, almost dumbstruck.
“Would you like the opportunity to confront him?”
Qasim paused for a second.
“Yes. I would have many questions for him."
-Transcript of Carolus Ironhorse interrogation, dated April 29, 2045.
Rafhazan, 2024
The smell of charred flesh hung in the air, accented by the acrid smell of mercaptan. Other than the roaring flames and crackling of wood and steel, the only sound in Kadirabad was that of Ephyran boots as they trampled over dirt, debris, glass, and bone alike. Qasim held the gas mask tight to his face, too large to stay on by itself, he desperately pushed it against his skin as the gas continued to spread. He tried his best not to look at the dead RDF Captain that had forced the mask over his head in the first place. The Ephyrans didn't care who they hit, friend or foe. He could hear footsteps drawing closer, so he simply buried his face into his mother's skirt and laid as still as he could. Little Qasim could hear the radio chatter drawing ever nearer, strange accents screaming. He knew just enough Mercanti to understand they were angry with the Ephyrans.
“Turn that fucking thing off.” One of the nearby men ordered, his voice obscured by the lens of his mask. Whoever he was talking to quickly complied.
“Great Khan, the men are not finding anything on the far side of town. Abass likely is not here.” another voice reported after some hasty footsteps approached.
“Then torch what's left of this place, move on to Al-Hazred, hit them with another barrage from Golf-niner-three, see if we can flush that little peckerhead out of his hidey hole.” the original voice answered.
“Khan Ironhorse, the Iterians are demanding we cease firing…” the second voice chimed back in.
A tense moment of silence passed before a single shot rang out, and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground reverberated off the buildings in the tight alley.
“I don't remember asking the opinion of my interiors.” Ironhorse hissed coldly. Qasim could just faintly hear the remaining soldier get on his radio and slowly read out a series of numbers that must have been coordinates.
“Ricky tick, Geldern.” Ironhorse drawled, his voice fading away. Qasim figured he must have been walking away.
Qasim laid face down for what felt like hours, waiting until there was only silence before crawling from the pile of his dead countrymen and looking around.
It was carnage.
The initial bombardment had almost leveled the neighborhood, and the streets had been filled with fleeing people when they dropped the gas. Qasim began to walk slowly down the street, stepping over the corpses. Their lips were an awful blue and their bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge from their heads. He chose instead to focus ahead, to get out of this terrible place. He could see the RDF soldiers that had been trying to direct people to safety lying dead at the end of the street, still clutching their weapons. As he neared, he could see they had been shot, but still showed the effects of the gas. Perhaps they had been shot out of mercy, or maybe the Ephyrans were just that cruel.
He fumbled at the snap on one of the soldiers holsters, and delicately drew his pistol. He had no real idea how to use it, but he took it regardless. He struggled looked it over, before gripping it tight and moving on. He had to keep moving.
Qasim had no idea where to go, but simply wandered from street to street, seeing that it was just more of the same scene. He wondered if anyone had survived. Eventually came to the far end of town, where it seemed the only building that wasn't too badly damaged was the Masjid. He cautiously approached the doors, peeking inside, only to find it dark, and quiet. He ducked inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He made it about halfway across the great empty floor before falling to his knees. He could feel the hot tears sting his eyes before the began to flow down his cheeks, cutting trails through the dust and blood caked to his face. He did the only thing he could, he touched his head to cold stone and prayed.
The gentle crunch of stone on stone made him snap back up and grab for the pistol. He scrambled way as he swung the weapon around and aimed it at a figure in the shadows. A very large figure.
An Ephyran woman moved slowly from the shadows, her hands raised to chest height with her rifle slung across her back.
“Its OK, kiddo. I won't hurt you.” she assured him.
“Ssss..stay back, djinn!” Qasim blurted, his Mercanti was choppy, but he knew enough to get by.
The woman still advanced toward him, her eyes mournful as she approached.
“Its ok, I promise, I won't touch you.” she continued softly.
Qasim pointed the pistol at her chest and tried to squeeze the trigger, but nothing happened. He tried again as she got closer, still nothing. He tried over and over again as she got closer, until she was only a couple feet away.
The woman reached out and pulled the gun from his hands. She looked it over and flicked the safety off, before chambering a round.
“I'll make you a deal. I won't hurt you, I'll even give you this back, but you need to tell me what you're doing here, and who you are, ok?” she asked, before holding the pistol back out to him, holding it by the barrel.
Qasim considered for a moment before choking back some tears, and nodding.
“My n-name, i-is Qasim, I am f-five. I c-came here to hide.” he stammered.
The woman nodded and handed him back the pistol.
“My name is Cora, I'm a medic. I want to help.” she told him, pointing to the green emblem on her plate carrier, that designated her as a combat medic with the Ekspedisjonsstryker.
“You're here to kill us!” Qasim cried out as he slowly crawled back away from her.
He could see her doing something strange with her face, as if trying not to cry.
She slowly reached up to her radio and said something in a language Qasim didn't understand. She was having a conversation with someone, and she seemed tense. There was a moment of silence between her and whoever she was talking to, before the man on the other end of the radio came back and his response seemed to soothe her.
She turned her attention back to Qasim, and took a deep breath.
“My friends are coming to help too. They want us to meet them outside when you're ready.” she told him.
“Why?” Qasim asked, the tears starting to choke him again.
“Because some of us are good. Some of us don't like this.” she replied sadly.
“You won't hurt me?” Qasim asked.
“No, kiddo, nobody will hurt you now, the bad guys are gone.” she assured him.
“Promise?” he asked sheepishly.
“I do. I promise you, nobody will hurt you now.” she said calmly. “Come here, let me look at you.” she continued, as she sat cross legged on the floor, swinging her bag from her shoulder.
Qasim cautiously approached until he stood right in front of her.
“Sit. I'm going to make sure you're ok first, alright? Then I'm gonna clean you up a little bit.” she told him. Qasim did as told, Sitting in front of her. She pushed the bag in front of him and opened it. She pulled out a bottle of water and an MRE, which she quickly handed over to him. “Only little bites and sips at a time, ok?”
Qasim nodded and took a sip of the water, trying to clear the dust from his mouth as Cora got into a kneeling position and began to look him over. The MRE was full of dried fruits and nuts, which he didn't much care for, but it was nice to have some food. Cora sat back and watched him eat the remaining contents of the bag, and slowly drink the rest of the water after she had finished her quick visual exam.
“Does it hurt to breathe or talk?” she asked him.
He shook his head as he examined her. She was younger than most of the Ephyrans he had seen, at least he thought she was, and she had more tattoos than most of them.
“What are your pictures for?” he asked, pointing to a raven on the back of her hand.
“They say who we are, where we're from.” she explained, taking a wipe from her bag, and holding it up to Qasim's face, gently clearing the dust and blood from his eyes, nose, and mouth, he could get cleaned up better later.
“Do you forget where you're from?” Qasim asked, still confused as to the purpose of the tattoos.
She feigned a smile. “Apparently some of us do.” she answered.
Qasim giggled, which brought a true smile to her. Her lilting laughter made Qasim giggle again before he went quiet.
“Is there anyone else?” he asked.
“In here?” she asked, before shaking her head.
“No. Outside. Is anyone else being helped?” he asked hopefully, pointing to the door.
She paused for a moment. “Maybe, I don't know for sure.” she lied. She knew that this poor kid was the current sole citizen of Kadirabad, but he didn't have to.
They both looked toward the door as the rumble of an engine approached, followed by footsteps.
Qasim, shuffled forward and grabbed at Cora's pant leg. Burying his face into her plate carrier. She held him against her with one arm while she reached for her radio with the free hand. Another brief exchange in a language he didn't understand, and the door of the Masjid slowly swung open, and two unarmed men entered. She pointed to her bag, which one of the men quickly grabbed, while the other seemed to keep watch at the door.
“We're going somewhere safe now, ok?” Cora assured Qasim, picking him up as she stood, his little arms working their way around her neck. He whimpered as they neared the door, so she rubbed his back and shushed him, trying to console him.
“Close your eyes for a second.” she told him as they exited the building. He did as she asked, feeling her slowly climb something. The next thing he knew, he could feel the vehicle moving as Cora held him. He kept his head on her shoulder as she held him, and looked out the window. He could see the plumes of smoke in the distance, he could hear the artillery firing, but it all faded as he surrendered to the exhaustion and fell asleep in her arms.
2046, Ephyra
Qasim shifted in his seat as the interviewer went back over the notes.
“So..what happened to Cora?” the interviewer finally asked.
Qasim shifted his gaze downwards and took a breath.
“My mom died about three years ago. She was caught in the crossfire between the Khanate troops and the Szubrov boy’s people.”
“You mean Khelani Ironhorse?” the interviewer tried to correct him.
“No, I mean Khelani Szubrov. He would never endure the shame of bearing his father's name.” Qasim asserted.
“Very well. Tell me, have you had any contact with Carolus Ironhorse since his capture by Prydanian forces?” the portly little man asked.
“No. Why would I do that?” Qasim asked, almost dumbstruck.
“Would you like the opportunity to confront him?”
Qasim paused for a second.
“Yes. I would have many questions for him."
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